


Here's the Thing about Winchesters.

by AnotherWorld3111



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BAMF Sam Winchester, Canon Compliant, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 09, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15248118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWorld3111/pseuds/AnotherWorld3111
Summary: You can't mess with one without dealing with the repercussions from the other.





	Here's the Thing about Winchesters.

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks again to KaenNoMai and tumblr user @deanwinbean for supporting me, motivating me, and helping me get through this. Kt, you're hella awesome, and I definitely wouldn't have been able to write all this ish without you.  
> Also,  
> GOOD FUCKING LUCK!!!!!!!!!!! *Blows you a thousand kisses and sends all the four leaf clovers your way*  
> oh, and IMPORTANT tw:  
> implied noncon. Read the tags, peeps

  Lying never worked well between the brothers.

  That still didn’t stop Sam from sneaking out of the motel room they were staying in in the middle of the night, casting one last glance at his brother, Dean’s face twisting with nightmares, before Sam shut the door behind him. Taking a deep breath of the crisp night air, Sam grit his teeth. He started walking. 

  He didn’t stop until he reached a bar, only a few blocks away. While sneaking out to grab some drinks was usually his brother’s MO, Sam desperately needed to clear his head. Before he started looking for another possible route to curing Dean. 

  Ducking into the bar, Sam sighed, immediately walking over to a secluded section of the bar. Keeping a wary eye on the few measly customers crowding the pool table, loudly laughing about something Sam didn’t bother to listen into, he slid into the booth that had him positioned with his back to the wall, granting him clear view of the rest of the place.

  Opening up his laptop, Sam started researching, immediately getting sucked into the articles -- or rather, the lack thereof. 

  “Can I get you anything, hot stuff?” 

  It wasn’t the voice, or the words that had Sam look up, but the movement out of the corner of his eyes suggesting that a waiter approached him. Blinking, Sam looked up, and stared, rerunning the words he possibly couldn’t have heard again in his head… But still coming up blank.

  Until the guy winked at Sam suggestively.

  “Oh!” Sam straightened, clearing his throat, his eyes widening as he looked around, uncertainly trying to reassess the place. Did he unknowingly walk into a gay bar or something? “Uh, just a beer? Whatever’s on tap.”

  The waiter’s grin grew wider as he leaned closer. “Sure thing, darling.” With a suggestive look up and down Sam’s torso, he turned around, looking over his shoulder at Sam the entire time.

  Sam swallowed, staring blankly at his laptop. He tried not to shudder. His skin was crawling since the moment the waiter practically undressed him with his eyes, and it took everything in Sam to ignore the urge to zip up his jacket and cross his arms over his chest. 

  The thought made him smirk, his mind instantly summoning a vision of Dean crossing his arms, exactly as Sam wanted to do, when he had been propositioned by men himself. 

  But thinking of Dean made Sam aware of what he was doing, what he was trying to do, because of how his brother was still lying back in their motel room, desperately trying to catch up on some sleep despite the relentless nightmares that plagued Dean.

  Guilt and self loathing was an all too familiar visitor to the Winchesters.

  It was because of that, with Sam buried several articles into possible traces of the Mark of Cain’s roots, that when the waiter came by with his drink, Sam barely paid him any attention, eyes darting up only to briefly acknowledge before going back to his screen. It took him another few minutes to even remember the beer the waiter left behind, and even then, he barely looked at it as he uncapped it, not really paying attention to the fact that the cap was already loose. 

  But just as Sam was about to take a sip, he stopped.

  Here’s the thing about the Winchesters. 

  They all started drinking years before their legal age. Seasoned drinkers before even eighteen -- twenty one for Sam, in all honesty -- one could say, and they were masters of all kinds of alcohol that came cheap.

  So for what should have been a regular El Sol beer, the moment Sam realized it smelled off -- way off?

  Sam paused.

  And abruptly realized how quiet the bar had gotten.

  Slowly, Sam set the beer down, his back ramrod straight. Staring blankly at the booth right in front of him, he took a moment to slowly lean back, resettling into a seemingly leisure position, emphasized when he rested his arm on the back of his own booth. 

  Picking up his beer again, he held it to his mouth, but didn’t let its contents get anywhere past his lips. 

  He glanced up. 

  One of the bar’s customer swiftly twisted his head.

  The waiter -- and bartender, apparently -- kept his eyes on the rag in front of him, wiping the same spot he’d been cleaning for the past few minutes.

  The other men stared blankly at the pool table, all of them holding a pool cue, none of them playing.

  Sam set his beer back down. 

  Closing his laptop, he carefully put it back into his satchel, before standing, tossing a few dollar bills on the table. 

  He slid out of the booth, walking to the exit, keeping his eyes trained on the door. 

  But his senses were on alert, so the moment one of the customers started trailing him, Sam was ready.

  The bar door barely shut behind them before Sam was whirling around, slamming the guy into the brick wall beside the door. 

  “What do you want?” Gone was the soft eyed customer who could still fend for himself need be. Gone was the tired man who just wanted a reprieve from his usual space for the night. Gone was the weary brother who had been looking for a cure with nearly bleary eyes.

  In his place was the predator all the monsters of the supernatural world had come to fear. The man who would take down anything or anyone who dared to cross his path. Who dared to try and see his downfall. 

  “You.”

  Especially cocky shits like the guy who was smiling fearlessly in the face of Sam Winchester himself.

  Lips curling in disgust, Sam slammed the guy into the wall again, his head knocking onto the wall again and swiftly blacking out. 

  The man crumpled to the floor. 

  “Yeah, not happening.”

  Sam stared at the limp form on the ground, and he barely had a moment to breathe before someone was slamming into him from the side. 

  Turning, even as he was propelled backwards, Sam grunted, hands scrambling for purchase around the guy who practically rammed him into a wall behind the bar. The air punched out of him, Sam gasped, but still reacted on instinct, lifting his knee and slamming it into the man’s guts. With a choked grunt, the man let go, trying to straighten, but Sam didn’t give him that chance. Quickly, he clocked the man in the jaw, and he fell over, still conscious, but visibly dazed. 

  And of course, that’s when the rest of the men stumbled into the alleyway. 

  Rolling his eyes, Sam shook his head. He seriously didn’t have the patience for this, and as much as he would have loved to vent his frustration any other day, now, he just wanted to get back to Dean. 

  So he reached back, and pulled out the gun that was tucked into his waistband, and brought it in front of him. 

  Sam clicked the safety off, and aimed it at the closest person.

  For some goddamn reason, the man only grinned, baring his yellowed teeth.

  “Ooh, looks like we’ve got ourselves another fighter, boys.” The rest of the group chuckled along like idiots. Sam narrowed his eyes, but his grip didn’t falter on the gun. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  Another man from the group, probably a lackey, if the guy closer to Sam was the leader like Sam guessed, piped up. “Yeah. All big and bulky, but once we got him down, he was soon squirming for it like a pretty little girl, wasn’t he?”

  The leader of the group laughed again, throwing his head back, before his laughter died down slowly. Sam was thoroughly disgusted to see how the man’s pupils had dilated. He almost gagged when his eyes drifted downwards. Worse still, the man noticed and he made sure to make a show of it. Thrusting his hips lewdly, he rubbed his crotch. “Oh yeah, you’re definitely taller. But your eyes look fucking good, wouldn’t mind seeing them looking at me when they’re crying from taking my dick.” 

  “How about I blow your dick  _ off  _ instead?” 

  The man’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t surprised for long before he snorted. “Oh yeah, definitely as feisty as the other one. Babbled until we got those perfect lips choking on our dicks, but something tells me taking you--”

  Sam looked away, disgust pooling in his stomach, bile rising in his throat with each word. To tell the truth, he’d never been in this position, never had to, as people were usually smart enough to know not to mess with the bulky six foot plus men that perpetually put off a can’t-be-messed-with-if-you-want-to-live aura. But for some reason, these idiots were stupid enough to try… and Sam was sincerely regretting stepping out of his motel room in the first place. 

  There was only one way this could end… and Sam wasn’t sure if there wasn’t anything wrong with that either, with the next words the man uttered. 

  “Sure, his eyes were hazy, still nice and green. Gotta admit, seeing your eyes clear though… I think that might be a thrill of itself.” 

  Sam’s head snapped to the leader, eyebrows furrowing as his brain rushed to connect the dots he wasn’t even aware existed. 

  Drugged beer.

  Hazy eyes.

  These men’s suggestions.

  Yeah, there definitely couldn’t have been anything wrong with what he was gonna do. 

  For all their words, it didn’t take long for Sam to put them down. Already revolted with the group, all it took was a single shot to the man’s crotch, keeping himself true to his word, that had the men look as if they were debating to flee, when instead, they made the mistake of trying to jump him at once.

  He emptied his gun on half of them. 

  The other half he took care of with his fists.

  When the dust settled -- metaphorically -- Sam stood in the middle of a bunch of groaning men all huddled on the ground, chest heaving. 

  “Fuckin’ ‘im,” one of the men groaned into the ground, drool dripping from the man’s mouth. His next words were even more garbled than before, but it told Sam enough. 

  Leaving the pitiful mess of a group on the ground, Sam strode back into the bar.

  It was completely empty, except the backroom’s door was left open, and it was in there that Sam went.

  Sure enough, the waiter from before sat in front of the security feed playing on the camera. His hand was furiously moving in front of him, Sam noted with repulsion bubbling in his stomach. 

  It took only one hit, and the guy was knocked out, slumping to the side in his chair. 

  His lips curling at the sight of the man’s pants undone, Sam turned to the feed. There was a video playing, of the very same men that were lying injured outside the bar, in the same alleyway Sam left them. Except in the video they were gathered around a limp man, all of them jerking themselves off to completion on their victim’s unconscious body.

  Closing his eyes, Sam added bleach to his mental to buy list, before opening his eyes again to click out of the video. He was redirected to a folder, and he was horrified to see the amount of video files that stared right back at him. 

  Rage and utter contempt rising within him, he was just debating on going back out to deal the men another round himself before calling the police as he scrolled up to find more and more videos, but then a video had Sam’s finger coming to a halt. 

  Freezing with disbelief, his finger shakily scrolled back down. 

  There was no way…

  Except the words still read the same, even after Sam blinked, and even tried rubbing his eyes.

  But they still flashed.

  Richard Tandy.

  No. It couldn’t be…

  But the date. 

  Seventeenth of January. 

  2014.

  Last year.

  With his finger trembling so hard the mouse almost flew off the desk, Sam clicked on the video.

  And immediately had to clench his teeth, resisting the merciless urge to vomit all over the keyboard.

  There was no mistaking Dean’s sluggish form struggling in the dark alleyway, putting up a good fight despite clearly drugged. 

  That didn’t stop one of the men from getting the advantage on Dean by hitting him on the head from behind. 

  Dean went down like a sack of potatoes.

  The man Sam recognized as the leader stepped forward, and grabbed onto Dean’s face. His other hand went to his pants… 

  Sam’s eyes shut, head turning away from the screen. He was gritting his teeth so hard, it was a surprise his jaw hadn’t broken. 

  The mouse in his grip was a different story, crunching warningly.

  January seventeenth, 2014. If Sam wasn’t mistaken… 

  Only days after Dean had parted ways with Sam and Cas, after they had finally freed Sam from Gadreel.

  Before everything started.

  Before Dean got the Mark of Cain.

  When Dean had gone off by himself.

  And Sam never bothered to ask what happened before the whole Cain incident.

  With a roar, Sam straightened, twisting around and attacking the waiter’s unconscious form. His vision was covered in red, ears ringing, heat erupting from his torso as he pummeled the water’s body, the man moaning and writhing yet never waking up, even as muscles were twisted, bones were broken under Sam’s knuckles. Eventually, even the chair broke, and it was that, as it crashed to the floor, that broke Sam out of his reverie.

  Straightening, he spat on the waiter, breathing heavily. 

  Turning around, he crouched in front of the computer. The video was still playing, showing Dean on the floor, unmoving, as the men started to walk off. One of them crouched down, picking up something off the floor, and flipped it open, just as Sam recognized it as Dean’s wallet. The man took out the cash and a few of Dean’s cards, staring at it for a second with narrowed eyes, before dropping it beside Dean.

  He left the camera frame, leaving Dean all alone in the alleyway.

  Nostrils flaring, Sam started typing. 

  It didn’t take long for him to delete all traces of Dean’s video from the computer. It took everything in him to not send his fists through the screen, however. Still, he managed to refrain, and gritting his teeth hard, he left the room without a single glance back.

  And walked straight back to the alleyway, where the men were just starting to get up. 

  He reloaded his gun.

  The men didn’t get to even straighten before Sam felled them again. This time, permanently. 

  Mind, he even took his time. 

  Sure, the first two went down with the bullets. 

  But then he recognized the third one.

  Sam ditched his gun at that moment. 

  He hated himself, he hated how his brain wouldn’t stop playing the video he was unable to stop from seeing, hated how it played in a loop, hated that the man in front of him was the one in his mind, repeatedly hurting his brother from behind…

  By the time Sam momentarily came back to his senses, the man was a bloodied mess on the ground. His face was completely beaten in, and a pile of urine and blood started seep out from the corpse. 

  Sam turned to the next man.

oOo

  The motel door swung open, creaking despite Sam’s efforts to do it quietly. Then again, he was too worn out to make an actual effort. He only hoped that Dean was just as tired--

  The passing lights of the flashing sirens illuminated the room, revealing Dean sitting wide awake on his bed, staring at Sam in silent horror.

  Dean was up and marching towards Sam the very next second.

  “What the  _ hell,  _ Sammy!” Dean’s hands run all over Sam, as if trying to gauge for any injuries by touch alone. Then again, Winchesters were all too familiar with all sorts of injuries, and they didn’t even require to get all hands on to figure out if one had a hairline fracture or internal bleeding.

  Still, Sam wasn’t that much of a douche to keep his brother worrying over nothing. “Dean, it’s nothing--”

  Except, Dean lifted his fist, and stared.

  Sam looked down. 

  His eyebrows went up. 

  There was a piece of bone sticking out between his knuckles.

  “Uh…” 

  “Sonofa _ bitch, Sammy!”  _ Really, any louder, and Sam was sure the manager himself would barge in, and that would only make matters worse. So Sam hastened to explain.

  “Dean, listen to me! It’s not what you think--”

  “Are you sure, Sam?” Dean cut in, looking enraged and still concerned in the way that only his brother could ever pull off. “‘Cause from where I’m standing, it sure looks a hell of a lot like what I think this is.” 

  Sam shook his head, almost growling in frustration. “I’m not--I went to a bar, okay!”

  Dean’s eyes narrowed, and before he could even make the retort Sam knew he was gonna say, Sam went on. “Tim’s Tavern?”

  In the future, Sam would look back on this moment, and would grudgingly admit, that for all his supposedly eloquent nature between the two brothers, especially when it came to reassuring grieving victims… this was not one of his finest moments.

  Because Dean paled, and seemed to absolutely stop breathing at that moment. 

  He took a step back, and then another, until the back of his legs hit the bed.

  He didn’t sit, but for an agonizingly long second, he merely stared at Sam, mouth agape.

  The next second, he was rushing back to Sam, grabbing onto the lapels of Sam’s jacket. “Did they hurt you?” Ironically, he shook Sam, but not as hard as Sam knew he had the potential to. “ _ Did they hurt you?” _ He demanded again, his eyes wide and frantic, and despite his low tone practically growling a threat, Sam could read the deep concern and fear Dean was barely able to disguise at that moment. And all of it was for him. “I swear to god, Sammy, if they laid even a single finger on you--”

  “I killed them.” 

  Sam’s voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper in the small gap between them, but it was enough to silence Dean. His fingers loosened on Sam’s blood slicked jacket, but he didn’t let go.

  “I--they--they were about to.” Sam swallowed, eyes dropping. “I didn’t. They tried to drug me. I didn’t drink it. So… I was able to fight them off.” Sam let out a humorless chuckle, still unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “It helped that I remembered my gun.”

  He could hear Dean swallow. “That’s my boy.” It was practically a croak. The pride was still evident. But none of the usual cheer that accompanied those words that would come out of Dean’s mouth.

  Nonetheless, Sam felt a tiny part of him still bloom with the phrase.

  It faded when he realized what he had to say next. “But. They said some things.”

  And Dean’s hands let go, slipping back to his sides. He stepped back, away from Sam, again.

  Still, Sam forced himself to go on. His throat was dry. Even swallowing didn’t help.

  “They had v-videos. Of all their--everything.” His jaw tingled, a warning that Sam should really stop applying so much pressure on his teeth. At least for a while.

  “But I didn’t let them go.” And now, Sam looked up. His eyes flashed with stubborn pride, and he was unable to stop himself from puffing out his chest, unconsciously standing up straight as he evenly met Dean’s stare. “I killed them. Every single one of them.”

  And in excruciating detail, Sam continued to tell his brother what exactly it was Sam did to those bastards.

  Halfway through, Dean finally collapsed onto the bed.

  By the end, he was absolutely pale, not a single bit of color to ward off the look of death that seemed to settle over Dean.

  When Sam fell silent, waiting with bated breath for Dean to make the first move, Dean said nothing. He didn’t move.

  And then he disappeared into the bathroom.

  For a moment, Sam shifted on his feet, uneasily rooted to the floor. Just as he was debating on if he should check Dean or let him be, there was a sudden noise of something crashing in the bathroom, and that made the decision up for Sam. 

  Striding forward, he was through the door in seconds, and there was no words to express his relief when Sam saw his brother still vertical. Granted, his head was bowed, hands a death grip on the sides of the sink, and the mirror  broken.

  But he was fine.

  “Dean?” His voice was soft, careful, as if breaking the silence would still break the careful hold Dean must have been having on himself. He opened his mouth, looking as if he was about to say something, but then stopped, mouth closing again. But sure enough, Dean did move. Sam practically flinched when Dean’s hands lashed out, but he stayed in place, breath escaping him without his notice as Dean merely grabbed onto a hand towel.

  Wordlessly, Dean turned the tap on, holding it under the water. 

  Not daring to utter a single word, Sam stayed motionless in place, waiting and watching his brother’s every action. Dean’s shoulders were tense, his entire form practically screaming for distance, to get away. And yet, when he turned off the water, Dean turned around, and walked right up to Sam. 

  And carefully started scrubbing the blood off his hands.

  The bone fell free from between Sam’s knuckles, the moment Dean grazed it with the towel. They both stared at it as it clattered on the bathroom tiles, disparaging Sam’s theory that it was his own bone that he’d shattered. 

  He wasn’t sure how he felt at the idea that it wasn’t his, now that they’d found out. 

  “Dean--”

  “Don’t.” Dean stilled, his eyes closing as he took a deep, controlled breath. His shoulders rising with the action, he didn’t open his eyes again until he exhaled. Jaw clenching, he started scrubbing the blood off again, but he still wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “It happened. I dealt with it. I got over it. You should too.” His voice brooke no space for argument, but there was no way Sam was going to let go of the matter that easily.

  “Dean, they  _ raped--” _

  “I said,  _ I got over it!”  _ Dean roared, taking a step back, and yep, now he was meeting Sam’s eyes. His eyes were flaming with fury, but even that, Sam could deal with. “Seriously, Sam!” He tossed the towel onto the sink with a distasteful look on his face. “That--it was all a year ago, man. So much shit has happened, you really think I’m still gonna be hung up on something as insignificant as that?”

  Sam gaped. “Dean, you can’t believe--”

  Dean held up a hand. “Leave it Sam.”

  “But--”

  “Just leave it!” And he strode out of the bathroom. A few minutes later, Sam could hear the front door open, and slam shut, the sound making Sam flinch. 

  He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

oOo

  They never did talk about it again. Any time Sam tried to broach the subject, either a glare or the actual threat that Sam knew Dean would carry out should he continue, was what taught him to eventually just give up. 

  But that didn’t mean Sam forgot it. And he knew Dean didn’t either.

  The next time he flinched, Sam noticed. And promptly wondered how many times his brother must have withdrawn himself from physical contact without Sam noticing.

  But then he wiped the thought away from his mind, and quickly stood, walking over to his brother, making sure to still stay a good foot away from his brother, even whilst looming threateningly over the drunk man who was getting a little too handsy with Dean. 

  Sam was sure his brother could take care of himself, and he was ready to say so whenever his brother would inevitably demand an explanation. 

  However, at that moment? When Dean seemed to lean in gratefully towards Sam, and away from the drunkard’s lewd comments? 

  Sam was willing to play oblivious, if that’s what it took, even as he warded off the pervert. 

  They never spoke about that either. 

  But Sam still kept an eye out. 

  And any time he noticed Dean grew silent again, his actions stiff and forced, hard to notice for anyone who wasn’t trained in the body language of Dean Winchester, even as he put on a mask of jovial laughter, Sam would step in. Knowing that he was doing the right thing the moment Dean immediately tilted towards him, be it the slightest indication by the twitch of his fingers, or the outright movement of him taking a step closer.

  Sam made sure to continue looking out for his brother after that.

  He’d already failed his brother once, not having been there to stop the crux of all this. But he wouldn’t let his brother down again. 

  There was no way Sam Winchester was letting his brother down again.


End file.
